


Chasing Smoke

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Banter, Bondage and Discipline, Command Mission, Confessions, Confusion, Continuity What Continuity, Covert Operation, Cybertron, Disguise, Dysfunctional Family, Interrogation, Law Enforcement, Missing Persons, Mission Related, Misunderstandings, Narcotics, Pre-Series, Protests, Spies & Secret Agents, Surprises, Sweat, Underage Drug Use, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl looks forward to promotion/transfer. Being the responsible mech he is, he works on the little things, such as sweating a drug addict for information. He thinks he has all the angles covered, but he's in for a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Smoke

"You…you don't understand, Chop Shop."

Prowl, sitting across from his latest arrest, frowned deeply at the nickname but didn't comment on it. "Seeking a fissure vent for narcotic use of the fumes is illegal in this city. I should know; I was sparked here. What exactly is it that I don't understand?"

The mech blinked a few times, circling his wrists in the cuffs and mumbling under his vents. "Scrap, it's…it's hot in here and 'm tired. Can I jus' recharge a little and you can ask me questions later?"

Prowl didn't even dignify the question with a response, which was just as good as a "no". He enjoyed the sensation of satisfaction when the subject whined a little and cast a longing glance toward the door. "It's _really_ hot," he pleaded again.

"Praxians have a lower tolerance to the cold," Prowl said simply. "We like heat in our city. Perhaps you shouldn't have come here, but you had to. Our fissure vents, the fumes that come from them, are famous among your kind, aren't they? Aren't they?"

Another not-so-furtive peek toward the door. "My kind?"

"Recreationals."

"'m not a recer—I mean, rec—who you think I am, really."

At that Prowl couldn't help but crack a smile. "Hmm. Yes, I hear that a lot. Whoever your creators are, whether they live in Iacon or the Towers, what you were doing is against the law and it's my job to enforce it." His charge's optics flickered a bit further toward the floor and Prowl leaned in, trying to recapture them. When he succeeded, he asked in a quieter but firmer tone, "How old are you? Sixteen centuries? Seventeen?"

Squirming languidly, his charge repeated, "'m…'m not who you think I am, Chop Shop."

"That term for law enforcement is derogatory," Prowl commented sharply. "Address me as 'Officer' if you're going to speak. I'll ask again: how old are you?"

Now that he had been reprimanded, the younger mech didn't seem to have a verbal response, but Prowl caught notice of the way his mouth tightened around the edges. He had an edge now, he realized, settling his elbows on his knees with his hands interlocked between. "Not the frame for doming, I assume?" he prompted. "Or only _just_ riding by the age guidelines."

There was a long moment of hush. Prowl waited it out, recognizing it as the type of silence that wasn't quite silence. The subject was going to crack at any moment—or if he didn't crack, he would at least bend, giving up some of his information but not all. Prowl was patient. He could gradually coax the rest out of this addict, he was sure. If he could, Prowl might even receive that promotion he was gunning for, the one that would transfer him to the base run by Optimus Prime.

"No."

Prowl's attention returned to the mech in front of him. Dubiously he raised an eyebrow, leaning back. "No? Would you care to elaborate?"

"Yes…and no, Officer. Yes, I would care to elaborate on the fact that no, I'm not the frame for doming," his charge admitted. "In fact, I could have moved on to much more 'delightful' narcotic pursuits."

Prowl was startled, to say the least. The other mech was now mirroring him, adjusting to straighter posture and folding his hands composedly. His optics were clear and his speech steady, even eloquent. What had just happened?

"I've always looked younger than I truly am," the subject continued, shrugging slightly. "In fact, I graduated the Academy three vorns ago."

"Academy?" Prowl echoed, feeling quite blindsided. Were his logic circuits defective again?

"Some students refer to it as T.A.C.L.E., though it never ceased to frustrate me that the letter 'k' was missing from the acronym."

"Me too," Prowl agreed, realization and frustration finally seeping in. "Your protoform is unstrained, meaning you didn't pry at it so the drugs would work faster. Your elbow joints don't have the fade of medical buffers rubbing out injector marks. You're not trying to tamp down restlessness and you're not trying to redirect this line of thinking because you know the law. You know that you wouldn't have to tell me if you were undercover."

"I'm simply pleased that I don't have to tell you." Here the other officer's voice dropped all smugness in his pretense, holding instead exhaustion and relief that Prowl found very familiar. He'd experienced it himself at the end of his own covert ops.

Embarrassment flaming over his EM field, Prowl sighed deeply, rubbed at his chevron and muttered, "Designation?"

"Chase, sir. I…apologize for misleading you this long. To be honest, you remind me quite a bit of my objective." At Prowl's perplexed expression, Chase explained, "I was trying to find someone among the domers; you and he look similar, so I was unnerved and had to keep my cover."

"You did fairly well," Prowl assured him, ignoring the sick feeling in his chassis, "but if I were you, I would correct a few of the things indicating you were an officer." Chase nodded somewhat jerkily and Prowl leaned in once more, adding, "It's not my place to ask, I suppose, but I will anyway: who is this objective who looks so similar to me?"

Chase studied him for a few kliks, seeming to weigh the pros and cons. Prowl could see the internal debate: _Decepticons are everywhere…but he's a superior officer…but only my CO is privy to the information…_

Finally, to Prowl's surprise, protocol was thrown aside. "I'm looking for Smokescreen," Chase announced.

Prowl's spark sank. "Oh," he sighed quietly. "Well, in that case, you're doing me quite a favor. I've been trying to detain my cousin ever since he disappeared over a vorn ago." The disappearance had been harder on Prowl than he was letting on; Smokescreen had fairly denounced everything Prowl stood for by aligning himself with the scum of Praxus, the scum that harbored well known Decepticon parties.

"Your cousin," Chase mused, sounding puzzled. "That makes you Prowl then?"

"Yes."

Rising to his feet, Chase awkwardly saluted in his cuffs. "May I request a request, sir?"

"Of course."

"Break off your pursuit of Smokescreen. We're finding it quite difficult to rendezvous if he has to keep up appearances by running from you."

One of his logic circuits crackled with imminent overload, Prowl was certain of it. "Rendezvous," he croaked out. "That would mean _Smokescreen_ is…?"

"He's done a much more admirable job of it than I have, sir, since it's a mission from Optimus Prime. I only received an order to infiltrate because they needed a carrier for Smokescreen's reports," Chase put in, apparently believing that would reassure his fellow officer. Instead, Prowl could only ponder one thing:

 _Now I can't_ wait _to be transferred. It seems Prime might owe me a few answers_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I'd really appreciate it if you commented :D


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